


wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?

by boneclaws



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bloodplay (minor), Bottom!Phineas, D/s undertones, Fingering, M/M, Mention of Animal Death, Royalty AU, Vampire AU, Vampire!Phineas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 21:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17210954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneclaws/pseuds/boneclaws
Summary: The visiting prince to the Carlyles' castle turns out not to be a prince after all. He also happens to be a vampire.





	wonderboy, what is the secret of your power?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [barnumxcarlyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barnumxcarlyle/gifts).



> This gives the vague impression of plot, but I swear it's more like porn with a lot of unnecessary build-up. I also don't really know what an Archbishop does in terms of the Catholic Church, for one thing, so don't take any of this to be accurate in literally any way.
> 
> This may potentially be one of many fics set in the same universe, but I also may never actually expound on it beyond wanting to write vampire Phineas having sex with King Phillip in various kinky situations.
> 
> Title belongs to Tenacious D.

“This is fake, then.” Phillip’s voice was soft, but Phineas’ jaw felt uncharacteristically hot all the same ( _hot_ , like he had blood to warm it; _hot_ , like he had a heart that made it flow inside). It’d all been going smoothly, this—pretending to be a prince, gaining the King’s favour, eventually becoming the hero to every single Other in the kingdom—and then Phineas had gone and killed on the premises of his castle.

Had it been his fault? He’d argue “no”. He’d say that the fact that someone allowed a kitten within a ten metre radius of where Phineas had been walking was outside of his control. He’d say that had the kitten not been bleeding, not been trailing red over the impeccable floors of the grand hallway, then none of this would have happened. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help his nature.

But it was his nature that had Phillip seeing through him like glass in a shop window.

“You’re a vampire.” Phillip’s fingers pulled the crown off Phineas’ head, affording it a cautious look before he met the man’s eyes—crimson now, red because he’d drunk so much, red because the kitten was lying drained on the floor, red because Phineas was an _abomination_. “The church would never let a vampire rule anything.”

“They don’t _know_ ,” Phineas said with a laugh that hinged on desperate. “Come on. I fooled you, didn’t I? The Archbishop wouldn’t—“

“Before your family’s rise to power, the Archbishop would have locked you all in a room with a heretic fed the highest quality meats, Prince” – a pause, as Phillip remembered who he was speaking to, and then shook his head – “Mr. Barnum. And he would have had the heretic’s arms slit open to test.”

Phineas’ throat dried. “That’s not true.”

Phillip smiled slightly, almost sadly. “It is, and you’d know if you read the same texts I did to prepare you for your throne.”

So that was it, then. So this was over. So Phillip knew that Phineas wasn’t of royal blood, and Phineas had no hope of gaining some of the Carlyles’ fortune to build a safe haven for the Others. Phineas was going to have to return to Lettie, and Charles, and W.D., and Anne, and Vassily and O’Malley and everyone else he promised he was going to build a new home for—and he was going to have to tell them that the King found out, and he was banished for betrayal, and he was to be registered under the vampire charter and held under racist laws, and— _and_ —

And Phillip placed the crown back on Phineas’ head, gently tucking some of his hair beneath the rim. “Does anyone else know?” he asked, and Phineas found himself shivering as Phillip’s fingers brushed over his temple. They felt cold, almost, but of course they would after all the kitten blood Phineas had swallowed down; at this point, Phineas’ body was warmer than it typically would be.

He shook his head, anyway. “No,” he whispered, and Phillip’s hand fell from its position.

“And when were you turned?” Phillip continued. Phineas, teeth gritting slightly, resisted the urge to dip his head in shame. He wouldn’t allow the man the satisfaction. “Ten years ago.”

“You aren’t registered,” Phillip mused, meeting his eyes.

“No,” Phineas agreed, tipping his chin up.

“In that case,” Phillip started, lips curving slightly, “we ought to make sure you never are, don’t we?”

Phineas was quiet. His brows furrowed. And then he looked down at him in disbelief. “ _What_?”

“You heard me.” Phillip’s hand moved down, smoothing the collar of Phineas’ shirt and stroking his fingers over the fresh spot of blood on the white. “I’m going to let you stay, Prince Barnum. But on one condition.”

Phineas tried desperately not to roll his eyes. Of _course_ there was a catch. Of _course_ a royal wouldn’t let him continue consequence-free. “And what would that be, Your Highness?” he asked, fingers twitching where they rested at his sides.

“You’ll be by me at all times,” Phillip said, giving him a brilliant smile. “Protect me.” He did Phineas’ top button up, and the collar bit into the skin of his neck. “Tell me about your kind. There’s a lot about the Other Side that I don’t understand, and if I’m to be a good king…”

 _Appalled_ didn’t even begin to describe Phineas’ confusion. “‘If you’re to be a good king’…? What?”

“Then I have to know my people.” Phillip pressed his hand to Phineas’ chest. “That includes you.”

Phineas laughed humourlessly. “I don’t _live_ here, Your Highness.” His own hand fell atop Phillip’s to remove it, but then Phillip’s wrist twisted and their palms pressed flat together—fingers between fingers, Phillip’s gaze meeting Phineas’ own without hesitation.

It wasn’t often a mortal looked into a vampire’s eyes in blood form with such determination. Phineas swallowed. But Phillip squeezed his hand and his mouth tilted into a slightly wider grin.

“You do now, Prince Barnum.”

Phineas watched, stupefied, as the most powerful man in the kingdom kissed his knuckles. “And please, call me Phillip.”

* * *

 

The set-up wasn’t as terrible as it should have been. The farce continued, and this time Phillip sold the lies himself. _Prince Barnum_ started to sound like something legitimate, even to the man himself, and it’d never been easier to pretend that he was a faraway royal come to re-establish ties with the most powerful family in the country. Phineas’ letters to Charity continued, telling his best friend that things were going as well as he thought they would, and Charity told him that she was proud; the Others that lived with her couldn’t wait to have their new slice of land to live on, couldn’t wait to have a home where they could be free.

It did make Phineas wonder, however; throughout all this, Phillip never asked him why he pretended to be a prince to begin with. He wasn’t sure if the detail mattered or if Phillip was saving it for another day, somewhere down the long line of time they’d be spending together. He wasn’t sure if Phillip even really cared.

What he did know, however, was that Phillip had been serious about his education. When he wasn’t off performing kingly duties, when he wasn’t busy in the stables, when he wasn’t schmoozing the nobles that came to visit, when he wasn’t talking to the workers in his castle and making sure they were all right—he was with Phineas in the study, and Phineas told him all he knew about the Other Side. Phillip’s notebooks filled steadily with written knowledge: chapters on vampires and weres, about sirens and faeries, about pegasi and manticores and every single Other Phineas had ever met. To say Phillip was curious was an understatement; he soaked everything up like a sponge, and he was eager in a way Phineas had never seen on a human before.

But there was something to be said about seeing the king enraptured. His blue eyes were piercing as Phineas lectured, his hands deft as they wrote notes in impeccable cursive, the slight part of his lips gorgeous in a way Phineas wasn’t yet brave enough to pursue. Curiosity went two ways, Phineas supposed; if Phillip was curious about the world that Phineas lived in, then Phineas was curious about _Phillip_. What did the look in his eyes mean? What did the brush of his hand over Phineas’ when he bent to add to his notes mean? And what, pray tell, did it mean when Phillip caught Phineas fresh from a feed—evident in the red of his eyes, the frantic mess of his hair, the way he walked faster—and his lips were not only parted as he looked at him, but were then wet with the soft slide of his tongue?

At any rate, Phillip hadn’t lied about his interest. Phineas wanted to believe this meant that when the time came and he asked for land and riches, he’d be an ally instead of an enemy.

He hated to admit it, but the truth was inevitable.

He quite liked Phillip Carlyle.

* * *

 

The meeting ended, and though Phillip’s advisors filed out of the throne room, Phineas met Phillip’s eyes from where he was seated and knew he had to stay. It didn’t stop him from twitching, though, the gums above his canines shivering with an inconsolable itch. It’d been two weeks since his last feed—the longest Phineas could push it before the hunger became an addressable problem—and he’d been on edge all day, desperate for nightfall and the cover of darkness to allow him to hunt. Phillip had been kind to him, at least; he talked to Phineas only when absolutely necessary, and Phineas hadn’t been required to speak to anyone but the king himself. Still, Phineas’ Ache was frustrating to the point of anger, and he hated nothing more than feeling the hunger and knowing there was nothing he could do to take care of it.

“Phineas,” Phillip called from his throne, “come here.”

So from his seat Phineas rose, sniffing lightly and pretending he couldn’t scent the sweet relief of Phillip’s blood. The king’s heart was beating calmly, strongly, and his blood pumped with the steady ebb and flow of a mighty ocean. Phineas’ tongue felt dry, and when he moved to stand by Phillip’s side as he often did, his eyes flicked instantly to the pulse point in his neck before he remembered to meet Phillip’s eyes instead.

“What?” Phineas asked, well beyond any politeness, words more a growl than any application of voice. “What do you want?”

“How do you feel?” Phillip murmured, and the skin under Phineas’ left eye twitched in thinly veiled irritation.

“You know how I feel,” he said, just barely able to keep his voice at bay. “I feel miserable. Cold. I feel I’m going to crumble, and if I don’t _eat_ , I’m going to lose my mind—”

Phillip interrupted him with a quick, “I’ve never seen you feed.”

And again, Phineas’ words starting to verge into a whine, he asked, “ _What_?”

“You,” Phillip murmured. “I know all about your species. I’ve seen your strength. I’ve seen your speed. I’ve seen you turn into a _bat_. But I’ve never seen you feed.”

“It’s better that you don’t.”

“And why is that?”

Phineas’ fists clenched at his sides, teeth gritting together. His answer left him in a soft hiss: “Because you smell…”

There it was—those blue eyes staring right at him, watching him, looking _through_ him, and Phineas felt vulnerable and broken and exposed in a way he’d never felt before. Phillip’s hand moved, callused fingers brushing over one tightly held fist, and Phineas’ gums ached as his toes curled in his boots. Phillip’s wrist brushed over the back of his hand like a whisper, the pulse point there beating against Phineas’ skin like a warrior on a drum, and when he gripped Phineas’ forearm with a surprising firmness, some desperate instinct demanded Phineas look at him.

“Your irises are white,” Phillip whispered. In turn, the eyes in question widened as he watched Phillip scrape his teeth over his lip… then bite hard enough for it to bleed.

The reaction was immediate. Instantaneous. In a flurry of strength and speed Phineas was on him, trapping him, pressing his elongated fangs into the plump flesh of Phillip’s lip and breaking the skin enough for him to _taste_. Phillip shuddered beneath him, stiffening, and Phineas smelled his fear and _revelled_ in it as his tongue slid over broken skin.

This wasn’t enough, of course. The Ache demanded more than a teasing dab of red, demanded Phineas tear Phillip’s throat open and suck everything until he was dry. He pulled away to do just that, a beat spent staring at Phillip’s awed expression and the smear of red on his perfect lips, and then dipped his head to _pounce_ —

But then there was the sound of metal clattering to the floor—Phineas’ crown, gone now—and Phillip’s fingers were curled into the hair at the back of his head. Phineas, disbelieving, found himself frozen mid-lunge by strength that shouldn’t be possible for a mortal.

“I’m sorry,” Phillip said, but the shit-eating smile on his face gave him away. “I cheated.”

His other hand moved to take the arm he’d gripped earlier, lifting it to show him, and Phineas stared in bewilderment at the metal bracelet wrapped around it.

More than that, he stared at the cross that dangled from it like a charm.

“Blessed by the Archbishop himself,” Phillip murmured, and he brought Phineas’ head back down to kiss him once more. Phineas made a broken noise into it, his senses screaming at him to kill, to break, to _drain_ , but Phillip’s hold was unbearably strong in the wake of holy intervention, and Phineas was left sucking desperately at Phillip’s lip instead, needing everything he could get before the blood clotted completely.

The kiss broke and Phillip kissed his jaw, Phineas’ lips parting with a shattered sound. “I know you’re hungry,” Phillip said, releasing Phineas’ hair and sliding his hand over the nape of his neck. His lips met Phineas’ throat, sucking at his Adam’s apple, and Phineas shivered in return, a soft _Christ_ making its way from his pale mouth.

Satisfied, Phillip sat back and held his arm up. His fingers stroked absently through Phineas’ curls before he gripped them once more, guiding his head to bite close to the inside of his elbow. “I’ll take care of you,” Phillip promised, and Phineas dove forward the rest of the way and sank his fangs into warm flesh.

The skin broke. Blood bubbled up and Phineas tasted, sucked, _drank_ —his lashes fluttered as his eyes closed. Phillip’s fingers released his head only so he could stroke his hair again, then brought his arm down to wrap protectively around Phineas’ middle. Phineas drank a few more beats before Phillip was cupping the corner of his jaw and gently pulling him off.

“All right?” Phillip asked him, thumb brushing the smear of blood off the corner of Phineas’ mouth. Phineas, though dazed, had half a mind to feel embarrassed for being messy about it like a fledgling.

“I’m all right,” he replied, though not without a furrow of his brows. “Still… hungry.” He licked the remnants of red off, sparing Phillip’s arm a glance; the blood had clotted over there, too, leaving two little marks barely the size of a mosquito bite.

Phineas’ eyes met Phillip’s. “I can’t believe you used the Church against me.”

And Phillip laughed, loud and happy and pleased to the end.

“I did. Now come to bed with me.”

* * *

 

The door to the king’s chambers swung open and was shut almost as quickly after. Phineas shivered as he felt the click of metal over his arm—obvious now, without the Ache taking over his senses—and let out a surprised little breath as Phillip nudged him into the seat by the fireplace.

“There’s a bed right there,” Phineas offered, but Phillip looked him over—impeccable clothes, recovered crown on his head, irises a soft pink under lantern light—and decided he quite liked him here where he sat. So he bent and kissed him anyway, and as he worked on the fastenings of his clothing he felt the way Phineas squirmed every time Phillip’s tongue brushed warmly over his.

There was power in this: in subduing a vampire, in making him arch and sigh with nothing but his touch. Phineas’ skin, a warm colour now that he’d been fed, glowed with a healthy sheen under the orange of the room.

Phillip’s hands smoothed over his chest, thumbs trailing through the hair in the centre of it. “Do you know how lovely you are?” he asked, unable to stifle his fascination.

“Well,” Phineas purred, “with the way you look at me, I think I have an idea.”

Then his trousers were gone, his body newly bared, and Phineas shivered as Phillip’s hands slid over his rump and the backs of his thighs, lifting him by the knees and hooking either leg up over the arms of the seat he was in.

“I regret to say you’re impossible not to stare at, Prince Barnum,” Phillip murmured, and with the king standing fully clothed and looking down at Phineas’ spread, nude form, Phineas felt a shock in his spine at how deliriously dirty it all was.

“You’re calling me a prince in private, now?” came his pathetic reply.

Phillip tapped the top of Phineas’ crown and smiled. “You _are_ wearing this.”

But then he was undoing his own clothes, pulling at his shirt, and it was only then that Phineas realised—his eyes drawn to the shape of Phillip in his trousers, to the way the fabric stretched over his cock—that he was hard himself. Incriminatingly so.

As if to add insult to injury, Phillip pulled a bottle of oil from the floor by the chair leg.

“You planned this!” Phineas exclaimed, delighted.

Phillip, grinning, poured some of the oil onto his fingers. “I like to be prepared.”

“I’m sure you say that to _all_ your lovers, Phil— _oh_ …” Phillip’s fingers brushed over the pucker of Phineas’ hole and up to the swell of his balls, up over his cock, and it was impossible not to move his hips in turn. He rutted up into that touch and Phillip and his eyes watched; he opened his mouth to speak and Phillip’s hand tipped oil between his legs. Loud, noisy, Phineas moaned when a fist wrapped around his cock and Phillip’s finger slowly pushed the dripping oil into his hole.

Phineas tipped his head back, hips rolling down onto his finger, up into his hand. “ _Fuck_ ,” he sighed, then sighed again as Phillip started to move that finger in and out of him, sweet and wet and Phineas’ body tight with need around him, “Phillip, _yes_...”

One hand moved up, grasping the back of the chair, but the other reached out to grip Phillip by the jaw and drag him in for another kiss. Phillip gave it, willing and warm, and Phineas shivered as his mouth was fucked by his tongue at the same time his hole was filled with a second finger, gorgeous and thick and enough to make him _keen_.

“When was the last time?” Phillip whispered, fingers stretching him open and oil dripping down to his wrist. Phineas toes curled hard.

“Don’t know,” Phineas murmured, hands moving up into Phillip’s hair and unsettling his crown. It fell to the floor with a thump neither of them cared about.

Phillip’s fingers pushed and opened and Phineas whined, his cock throbbing hard against the palm pressed to it. Phillip’s wrist bent and his fingers curled _up_ and Phineas almost lost his _mind_ , squeezing around him, rocking onto him, wanting to be filled by him, taken by him, ruined by him.

Lips brushing Phineas’ cheek, Phillip asked, “Did you take it like this?”

 _This_ —the steady motion of Phillip’s fingers, the push and pull and stab of them—had Phineas turning his head to find Phillip’s lips again, shuddering when Phillip gave it to him, shuddering when Phillip’s hand released his prick to hold his hips steady and his palm smacked against Phineas’ ass with every thrust.

“God!” Phineas huffed, back arching as Phillip hit him just _right_. “God, yes. Yes…”

“All that strength and you want it subdued?”

“Yes.” A third finger pushed into him and Phineas’ cock throbbed dangerously against his belly, throbbed again when Phillip’s head dipped and he felt a tongue slide across a perked nipple. “ _Yes_ , yes I. God.”

“By men?” Another thrust and Phineas shivered, breathed out his ‘yes’.

“By women?” Another ‘yes’, another thrust, and Phineas had just enough sense to realise this was how Phillip asked questions when he was teaching him, too.

Phillip bit into the centre of his chest and Phineas cried out, his thighs tight with tension as he clenched around the fingers buried in him. Phillip stayed, _held_ ; Phineas shuddered and bucked to no avail, feeling small, feeling vulnerable, feeling something close to human.

Phillip’s head lifted. Those blue eyes, sweet and soft and burning with passion, watched Phineas’ face for every sign there was to see.

Phillip’s voice was quiet, but not any less firm. “By me?” he asked, and Phineas could have sworn his dead heart started beating again.

“Phillip,” Phineas breathed, lips curved into as much of a smile as he could muster, “I want you most of all.”

And that was all there was to say about that.

Phillip understood. Phillip pulled his fingers from Phineas’ body and he felt empty like nothing else, but then his trousers were being undone, his cock thick and curved in his arousal. Phineas felt his gums itch once more at the scent of his blood, his throat going dry with the reality of Phillip’s musk, of his _sex_. “Christ,” Phineas whined, and Phillip caught his gaze with an amused tilt of the mouth. He slid his hand over the oil on Phineas’ cock, coating his own with it, and with one hand still gripping hard onto the chair’s back, Phineas brushed his other hand over Phillip’s chest to touch the steady pump of his heart there.

“I want you too, Phineas,” Phillip said, hand around the base of his cock and the tip of him brushing over Phineas’ hole. Phineas felt him shiver, smelled the blood rush up to his face, and found it impossible not to smile when Phillip’s eyes met his. “You have no idea…”

Then he pressed in—stretching him, filling him, and Phineas’ lips parted as his mouth opened soundlessly in turn. Phillip felt hot, _too_ hot, burning him from the inside out as his prick slid smoothly into Phineas’ welcome body, in and in and making Phineas feel _whole_. It was perfect, Phineas thought; Phillip’s balls pressed to the curve of his ass and Phineas’ legs finally moved to wrap around him and drag him in, to hold him close with both his arms following suit.

“ _Yes_ ,” Phineas moaned when Phillip started to move, his hips drawing back and pushing forward in steady, shallow, stretching pumps. “That’s it, Phillip, _yes_ …” _Yes_ as Phillip angled his hips, stabbed his cock deep into Phineas’ hole. _Yes_ as Phillip’s hands settled on Phineas’ hip and the armrest at his side. _Yesyesyes_ when Phillip pulled back longer and fucked in deeper, faster, harder, more and more until the oil between them was squelching with a dirty noise every time he pushed himself back in.

“Phineas,” Phillip groaned, and to hear his king so wrecked sent a bolt of pleasure straight to Phineas’ gut. “Phineas, you feel so— You’re _so_ —”

The hand on his hip tightened enough to bruise, the chair legs scraping over the floor with every steady beat and pump, and Phineas heard Phillip’s heart escalate, rise, go louder and louder and _louder again_. Phillip’s heart raced and Phineas heard himself whine above it. Heard Phillip groan. Heard the smack of skin, the slide of oil, the creak of wood as the chair moved beneath them. He was close. He was so close. He was close and ready and Phillip felt so _hot_ …

Phineas almost missed the gasped out _bite me_ , but the hand in his hair and the shove of his head told him enough. Phillip’s blood pumped so hard, so fast throughout him, and as Phineas was guided to the curve of his shoulder he could smell it more than even the scent of Phillip’s arousal.

“Come on,” Phillip whispered, hips slapping hard against Phineas’ ass and words shivering in the wake of his vulnerability, “let me take care of you.”

So bite him Phineas did.

He felt Phillip stiffen, and for a moment feared he’d done something wrong. But the blood filled his mouth, honey and nectar and hot to the tongue, and Phineas heard a noise like a whimper before Phillip grabbed both his hips and rutted into him deep and hard and with every ounce of strength he could. Phineas felt his body warm and he felt Phillip tremble with lust, and he’d only enough sense of mind to know he’d been filled— _marked_ —dirtied with the king’s seed, before his own orgasm overtook him and his senses shot up to the heavens above.

* * *

 

When he came to, Phillip was kissing his skin. The marks on his shoulder were just marks, blood no longer flowing free, and Phineas felt dazed, drunk and sex sick and fed human blood for the first time in years.

“I’m sorry,” came Phillip’s voice in his ear, rough with the exertion. Phineas shuddered as he felt teeth nip at the shell, then kiss down towards the lobe, towards the corner of his jaw. “I’m sorry I made you feed in front of me.”

Phineas, still considerably stupefied, only said a clumsy, “ _That_ ’s what you get from this?”

Phillip chuckled. “I worry I forced you.”

“You didn’t— _oh_.” Phineas shivered, the blood in his body rushing up to his cheeks, as shifting had Phillip moving within him, come hot and thick and curling out the edge of his hole. “Oh, God. God that’s.”

“I know,” Phillip provided, sounding sheepish.

“Do you?” Phineas questioned, and he brought a hand down to grip Phillip’s rump, drawing him up—drawing him _flush_ , his prick half-hard and Phineas’ hole a tight sleeve around him. Phillip’s breath caught in his throat, his arms shuddering—“God, you’re the _devil_.” –and Phineas brought his chin up to kiss him, a smile caught somewhere in between.

Phillip groaned, and Phineas half-wondered if it was because he tasted his own blood. He groaned and he thrust and Phineas whimpered into his mouth. But one kiss became two, and two became three, and soon Phillip was pulling him off the chair and pushing him into bed, Phineas’ name a melody in his mouth and his body a sea he could drown in.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, blue eyes piercing as they looked into his own, hands on either side of Phineas’ head as he rocked slowly into him, Phillip murmured, “Your irises are red with my blood.”

And Phineas, his hands grasping Phillip’s face as he laughed and kissed him, knew that meant he’d be his from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> bottom phin rights


End file.
